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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/28693011">Call Me Dottie and You Die</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheLoonWatches/pseuds/TheLoonWatches'>TheLoonWatches</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Animaniacs</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>1930s, Assault, Attempted Sexual Assault, Blood, Dot not having it, Dottie is a stupid nickname, Gen, Great Depression, before they got locked in the tower, how'd you like to starve huh?, not fun, people getting slammed, some sibling stuff, step right up folks we got all the crap</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2021-01-11</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2021-01-16</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-13 07:53:29</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Teen And Up Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>Graphic Depictions Of Violence</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>3</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>4,793</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/28693011</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheLoonWatches/pseuds/TheLoonWatches</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Back in the 1930s, the three times people have called Dot "Dottie" and learned the hard way that that nickname is stupid.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Dot Warner &amp; Wakko Warner &amp; Yakko Warner</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>14</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>74</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>1. The Crunched Can Man</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>Noonday was fast approaching as the set was being prepared for the shooting that day- literally and figuratively, since it was going to be a gunfight. Not a cloud in the sky, sun glaring down for a blistering day ahead. A perfect day for filming the scene. Except there was one problem: </span>
</p><p>
  <span>The Warner siblings were in the middle of the set, playing jump rope. Or “jump tail,” if you will; since the jump rope was actually Yakko’s tail. Wakko held the end of his brother’s tail and swung it around as Dot kept her jumps in time with a rythme. “Red-Legs, Red-Legs, has two guns. He shoots peo-ple just for fun. If you see him, you will cry. Oh, dear Lord, I’m go-ing to die!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The staff setting things up around the Warners didn’t know how to tell them to go away. For the person who did always seemed to become their target of the day. It has happened so many times that they have lost count.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Confusing stupidity for bravery, a new set designer waltzed on up to them. He was warned of their destructive behavior, but he was not exactly a smart man. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Their children</span>
  </em>
  <span>, he reasoned, </span>
  <em>
    <span>how terrible are they?</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>Yakko and Wakko glanced over, but ignored him. Dot didn’t even look up from her jumping, as she had begun counting, “One, two, three, four. . . .” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>When he reached them, he bent over, hands on his knees, and spoke slowly. “Hiya, kiddos. What are you doing?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Yakko smirked at his siblings, knowing where this was going. “What does it look like we’re doing?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The man nodded, a big smile plastered on his chubby face. “Aw, right, you’re playing jump rope, huh?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Yakko painted on an equally big smile on his face. “Sure are!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Hey, why don’t you all run off and play somewhere else? Us grown ups are trying to get this place set up for a movie part, and we don’t want you kids getting hurt. How ‘bout it?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Yakko listened patiently, put his finger on his chin, looked up at the sky and stuck out his lip. He tapped his finger once, twice, thrice, before answering, “No. We’re good here.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The set designer’s smile faltered. “Oh, um, well, there’s, uhhhhh, gonna be a scary gunfight on set today, and-”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Oh, I love gunfights!” Wakko clapped his hands, letting go of Yakko’s tail, but it kept swinging up and down in time with Dot’s hops. “Can we be part of it, too? I’ve been practicing!” To demonstrate, Wakko pulled a gun out of nowhere and pointed it at the set designer. The man reared back at the sight, only for his face to grow red when a stick poked out of the barrel with a flag reading “BANG!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“No! You can’t be part of it!” the set designer said, his temper rising.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Aw, c’mon! You wouldn’t want to make my lil bro sad, would you?” Yakko inquired, gesturing to his brother and his little frown. An oversized tear formed at his eye as he lowered his hand holding the gun. “And my sis would </span>
  <em>
    <span>love</span>
  </em>
  <span> to be in it too. Ain’t that right, Dot?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Seventy-seven, seventy-eight, seventy-nine. . . .”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“No. You kids can’t be on the set right now. Maybe later, deal?” The set designer tried plastering on his fake smile again.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I </span>
  <em>
    <span>never</span>
  </em>
  <span> get to be in real gunfights. . . .” Wakko scuffed his foot across the dirt.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“There </span>
  <em>
    <span>isn’t </span>
  </em>
  <span>going to be a real gunfight.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“But-”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“No.You kids aren’t allowed on the set right now.” The set designer made a grab for Yakko’s arm, but he just curled away from the man’s hand. The hand instead went for the second best thing.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Ninety-seven, ninety-eight, ninety-nine, one- oof! Hey!” Dot’s arm was clamped down on by the man’s sweaty hand. She was pulled up from her final jump, and being marched away. “I was almost to one-hundred!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Hey! Let go of our sister!” Yakko yelled, grabbing onto Dot’s legs and trying to slow down the set designer. Wakko linked his arms around Yakko’s waist and dug his heels into the dirt.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Let go on me, you big oaf!” Dot struggled and punched his stomach with her free hand.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>In a stroke of attempted levelty of this situation he had created, the set designer tried once again to plaster on his fake smile and say in a sickly sweet voice, “Why don’t you and your brothers go play somewhere else. Go play with some dolls. Doesn’t that sound good, Dottie?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Dot stopped struggling, shocked confusion marring her face. “</span>
  <em>
    <span>What</span>
  </em>
  <span> did you just call me?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The set designer’s smile fell once again, as if he could sense his inevitable doom. “I-”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>A giant hammer slammed down on the man’s head, crunching his body into the ground like a used can. His hand opened, letting Dot fall gracefully on the handle of the hammer. She hopped down and lifted the hammer off of the man, steadying it on her shoulder. She glared at the set designer’s squashed face and crack-toothed smile, pursing her lips in the angriest way possible. “Call me Dottie, and you die.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Yakko and Wakko peered down at the set designer in terrified awe, the slightest inkling of sympathy swirling around in their chests for the crunched-can man. “Duly noted.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Dot turned up her nose with a “hmph” and sashayed away, out of the set, with her brothers close behind. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>The rest of the set, who watched the exchange the entire time, all collectively let out a big sigh of relief. The Warners were gone. And it wasn’t them who got smashed.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>But the dreaded Warners would return an hour later, to wreak havoc on the ghost town set that had so deeply offended them.</span>
</p><p>From that day forward, Dot decided that "Dottie" was a stupid, stupid nickname.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0002"><h2>2. The First to Call Her Ugly</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>This is going to be a heavier chapter than the last one. And the next one more so. So if you're not interested in that stuff, I suggest sticking to the first chapter.</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>The day was bright with big, fluffy clouds rolling past, so Dot had the idea of going on a picnic. By herself, though, since she wanted a calm afternoon that did not include Wakko eating everything and Yakko making fun of every butterfly. Sometimes a girl just needed some me-time.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Dot skipped along the path in the park, a picnic basket hanging at her elbow. Eventually, she found the perfect spot to set her picnic, a nice grassy hill with a ray of sunshine lighting it heavenly. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>She pirouetted up the slope, pulled out a big red-and-white checkered blanket from her basket, and unfurled it onto the top of the hill. Setting down the basket, she turned clockwise around several times before plucking herself down onto the soft blanket. She sighed, basking in the warm glow. “Perfect. . . .”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Dot opened her basket and carefully pulled out a peanut butter and raspberry jelly sandwich- with wheat bread. She was just about to take a bite when a high-pitched voice yelled, “What the hell is that?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>With her nose scrunched up at the interruption, Dot looked around for the intruder. To her right, on the path, were two girls. One of them, obviously the instigator, stared pointedly at her- rudely at that. She had her blonde hair done up in a bow, long-sleeves and a knee-length skirt hiding her bony frame. Her friend was a bit more hesitant, hiding behind the blonde. The friend had a bit more fat to her body but didn’t fit into her clothes like the other girl.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The friend whispered to the blonde, not knowing that Dot had much better hearing than either of them. “I think that’s one of the toons they got at the Warner studio.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Never seen the likes of that before. What kind of animal is that supposed to be?” the blonde snipped.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Dot bristled, sticking out her lip. “I’ll have you know that </span>
  <em>
    <span>I’m </span>
  </em>
  <span>Dot Warner. Or Princess Angelina Contessa Louisa Francesca Banana-Fanna Bo Besca III to </span>
  <em>
    <span>you</span>
  </em>
  <span>.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Oh, one of those talkies, huh?” the blonde said, starting up the hill. “Damn toons- don’t know when to shut up.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Jesse, I really don’t think-”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Shut up, Lisa!”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Lisa did shut up, and hung back as Jesse stalked up the rest of the hill to tower over Dot, blocking out her sun. Dot’s nose scrunched up again. “Can you move over? I chose this spot for the sunshine, y’know.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Give me the basket. Then I’ll move.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Dot’s mouth opened, astonished at the bluntness. “I don’t have to give you anything.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Yeah, but you take plenty.” Jesse snatched the handle of the basket, but Dot grabbed the bottom of it before the girl could escape. “Taking all our damn money for your stupid pictures.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Dot’s brows hooded over her eyes, steam starting to seep out of her ears. “I don’t take any of your money. Now give me back my basket.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“We’re out here starving while you’re stuffing your ugly, little face.” Jesse tugged on the basket harder, but Dot held fast. “Waste of paper taking everything.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Dot growled, grappling on for any insult she could find, and finding the one that they’d both regret. “Look who’s talking. Stupid piece of flesh wasting every bite-”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>A fist drove straight into her face. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Shut up, you dirty, rotten bitch! You don’t know anything!”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Dot collapsed back on the blanket, a hand flying up to her eye, where she knew a black eye was going to mar her beautiful face. She looked up to see Jesse strolling down the hill, her basket dangling from the girl’s hand. “Hey! That’s- that’s not yours!”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Is now. Thanks for nothing, Dottie.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Dot never knew until that moment that someone could actually see red. She certainly did “see red” before, but that was played for laughs. Now, however, her vision bled, and the next thing she knew, Jesse was on the ground. And Dot was slamming her fists into the girl’s face.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Call. Me. Dot-tie. And. You. Die!”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Both girls were screaming. Jesse tried to catch Dot’s fists, but Dot punched her square in the nose. Blood gushed from her nostrils and tears started leaking from her closed eyes. Dot reared her fist back the farthest it would go before she was kicked off of her victim. She rolled across the gravelly path before catching herself and snarling. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Lisa hurriedly picked her friend up and dragged her away, running out of the park. Jesse slumped on her shoulder, holding her nose as blood dripped onto the ground.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Dot stood up, shaking. “Y-yeah! You better run!”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The girls disappeared around the corner. Dot heaved air in and out of her lungs, clenching and unclenching her fists. As the adrenaline faded, her eye began to throb, and she hissed as she held a hand to it. The other eye searched the ground for the basket. It had toppled over onto its side, spilling its contents: a bag of blueberries, a glass of water, and the sandwich, onto the gravel.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Dot kicked the basket, too angry to care. Her picnic was ruined anyway.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Her breathing began to slow, but the quivering refused to stop. Dot sniffled, then a sob choked out of her throat and tears stung her eyes.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Pride was one of her weaknesses- something she realized awhile ago. And the thought of her brothers seeing her come home with a blackeye was almost unbearable. Her brothers were the ones to get blackeyes from doing stupid things. But not her. She wasn’t stupid. Or a waste of paper. And her face wasn’t ugly. And she didn’t stuff it all day.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>She was adorable. People went up and awwed and cooed to her all day. Birds sang and butterflies danced when she walked by. So why was this time different? Why did that girl look at her in absolute disgust? Why’d that other girl let it happen?</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>She was cute. The cutest thing anyone would ever see. And she was tough. And smart and funny and-</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>So what did she do wrong?</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Dot didn’t go home to her brothers. Not immediately, anyway. Instead, she slumped down, hid her face in her arms. And cried.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>She really hated “Dottie.”</span>
</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Don't you just love the 1930s? What with that good ole Great Depression?</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0003"><h2>3. The Director</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>As mentioned before, this is going to be the heaviest of the chapters. Minor Sexual Assault Warning.</p>
<p>This does have a different format compared to the other two, because this is the one that I had in mind first. I read a fic that mentioned something like this happening but didn't elaborate, and I needed to explore that. Not to mention how Shirley Temple was treated more often than not when she was a child. Nothing but touches happen but proceed with caution anyway.</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>Dot winked to her reflection, knowing full well she was the cutest thing in the world. And why wouldn’t she be? She was the Dot Warner after all. Princess Angelina Contessa Lousia Francesca Banana-Fanna Bo Besca III to be precise. And she was about to get her own starring role in a movie.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Some new director from New York had asked for her specifically. He must have noticed her running around the lot with her brothers. And who could blame him? She was hard to miss.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Dot reached for her favorite perfume on the bathroom counter, but when her fingers curled around air, she groaned. “Wakko! Did you drink my perfume again?!”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Nnooooooooooooooooo. . . .” came the guilty reply from the other room in their (stolen) trailer.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I can’t believe you. . . .” Dot rummaged through one of the counter drawers and found her second favorite perfume- undrunk by Wakko. She sprished the flowery concoction around her head, creating a toxic cloud that almost suffocated Yakko as he walked into the bathroom. He gagged and fell to the floor, clutching his throat.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Oh, stop, you big baby,” Dot chastised.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Can’t - breathe- require- ack- medical- ach- attention-” X’s appeared over his eyes when he “died.” Dot threw several makeup brushes at him to force his revival, successful since he laughed and swatted the brush missiles away.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“What ‘chu getting all dolled up for, sis?” Yakko asked, once he successfully dodged all the brushes.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Dot puffed up with pride. “</span>
  <em>
    <span>I </span>
  </em>
  <span>have an interview-audition. A new director wants me for a solo.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Awwww and you’re leaving me and Wakko behind?” Yakko pouted, big puppy-dog eyes bulging out. Dot pushed his face away.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I couldn’t get rid of you dummies if I tried. Besides, maybe you’ll make a cameo someday.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He gasped. “A </span>
  <em>
    <span>cameo </span>
  </em>
  <span>in a movie with miss Dot Warner? Daw, our baby sister </span>
  <em>
    <span>WUVS </span>
  </em>
  <span>us. Give me some sugaaaar~” Yakko pinched her cheek and made mock kissy faces at her before dancing away from her good-natured, flying fists.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Shoo! Get out! I gotta get dressed!” Dot shoved him out the door and all but slammed it behind him. Yakko blinked in surprise, shrugged, then strolled off to find Wakko to see if they could cause any havoc without their sister (which, to be honest, was a hard thing to do with only two people).</span>
</p><hr/>
<p>
  <span>Dot hurried along to the new director’s office. The Warner trailer was more along the edge of the Warner movie lot, and Dot realized as she adjusted her flower tie in the mirror that she was almost late. Actors and script writers and producers passed her by as she weaved between sets and trailers. She hiked up the front of her dress since it was close to dragging across the dirt. She would have picked another one, but none of the others had the right amount of puff to the sleeves.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Finally, Dot made it to the office building. She grinned up at it, excitement filling up her little heart. She hopped and squealed in joy before quickly composing herself, smoothing down her dress, and walking to the door like a proper lady. A man opened the door to exit but held it open for her as she passed. “Thank you, good sir,” she said in a pristine voice.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>A receptionist at the lobby desk greeted her. Dot asked for the director by name and happily repeated the information the receptionist gave her, “Last door to the right.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Dust particles were floating in and out of the light as she walked down the dim hall. She paid them no mind since she was scanning the name planks on the doors, despite knowing which one she had an appointment to. Finally, the last door on the right was before her. She smoothed down her dress once again, stroked her hair, then knocked the ending tune of “At a Darktown Cakewalk.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Come in,” was the almost immediate reply.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Dot turned the knob, kicking up her legs and hanging onto it as the door swung open. “Hellooooooo, mister director!”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The director sat at his desk, looking at paperwork. Upon hearing her voice, he looked up and smiled pleasantly. He had that classic 20s New York air about him: the wavy, short hair, the straight jawline, the innocent smile. Oh, it was almost enough for Dot to sprout wings and float into his arms. But that could wait.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The director stood up and rounded his desk. “Hello, miss Dot, was it? That’s such a cute name.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Yes indeedy. Miss Dot Warner,” she said with a flip of her hand at her pixie cut.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The director walked behind her and closed the door. “Why don’t you take a seat?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Don’t mind if I do,” Dot replied, picking up one of the chairs with one hand. The director chuckled, but told her to sit in the chair the normal way, which she did. She expected the director to go around to his seat behind the desk again, but he didn’t. Instead, he leaned against the desk a little to the left of her. Dot thought nothing of it, and clasped her hands together.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“So, you called me down here to star in a movie, didn’t you?” Dot questioned, smiling as sweetly as possible.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The director’s smile, however, seemed to falter. But he composed himself. “Oh, you want to be in a movie?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Confusion streaked by across her face, but she quickly replaced it. “Yes, that’s why you asked for me.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The director adjusted his position against the desk. “Yes, of course.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Dot tilted her head, not letting her smile fall. “Well, you suppose right, because I would be the perfect star. I mean, just look at this face- it’s the cutest thing anyone would ever see on the silver screen.” Dot knitted her fingers together and rested them under her chin and batted her eyelashes to further the point that she was, in fact, adorable.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The director smiled again. “You certainly are cute. . . .”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Not to mention that I’m strong and smart and funny and-”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Yes, yes, but you see- I can’t just </span>
  <em>
    <span>put </span>
  </em>
  <span>you in a movie.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Dot trailed off then stilled, that previous confusion coming back to her. She stared for a beat before her brows slanted over her eyes and she stood up in her chair. “Well, why not? </span>
  <em>
    <span>You’re</span>
  </em>
  <span> the director here.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“There are rules I have to follow. And I can’t make up a movie on the spot. I’m already working on a movie, so yours would have to wait. Not to mention the producing, casting, budget-”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Then make it happen.” Dot pouted and planted her fists on her hips. She didn’t like to have her time wasted.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The director, though, kept his smile constant. He stood from his position on the desk, walked to the window, and closed the blinds. Rectangular shadows darkened the room. “I can make it happen. . . if. . . .”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Dot’s ears perked. “If what?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The director stood quietly, back turned to her. Slowly, he faced her, and walked around the desk to stand in front of her. “You see, Dot.” He took one more step toward her. “I had seen you running around with your brothers. And you were the cutest thing I ever did see.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Dot waved her hand flippantly. “I get that all the time.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I’m sure you do, and rightfully so.” He took another step toward her. Dot’s eye followed his hand as it rested on the arm of her chair. “But I was immediately enamored by you.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The other hand rested on the other arm of the chair. Dot’s eyes flicked between either hand, then up to the director’s face. Normally, she would have been flattered just by the word “enamored.” But something was wrong. This was fake. This had to be fake.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>She couldn’t find the words; all she could spit out was, “Is this a joke?” Because she didn’t get it.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The director chuckled, and she didn’t like it. “No, this isn’t a joke. But this can be our little game.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He leaned closer. Dot shrunk back. She didn’t like this game.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The director towered over her. Her knees began to shake and she didn’t know why. Her legs gave out and she fell down in the chair. She didn’t get the joke. This wasn’t funny. “You- you- don’t know me.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The man’s smile turned sharper, like a knife covered in vomit. “Can I get to know you then?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Dot couldn’t move. Like her body was waiting for her mind to tell it what to do. But her mind didn’t know. It didn’t even recognize what this was. All it knew were big red letters spelling “Danger.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“No.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The director’s hand touched her leg. Chills went up and through Dot’s skin. “C’mon, I wanna be friends. Maybe more than friends. . . .”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>What did that mean? This doesn’t make sense. This isn’t a kiss and tell. </span>
  <em>
    <span>What was it?</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <span>His hand moved up.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Give her something. Give her something she can work with. All she needed was a one-liner. Some slapstick. A look at the camera. Anything. Anything funny. What was the joke?</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The director’s face leaned into hers. Her eyes blew wide but he maneuvered to the left, right next to her head. He whispered, “This can be our little secret. Then I’ll put you in a movie. In a dozen movies.  If you’ll be a good girl for me, Dottie. . . .” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>. . . .Dottie.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>That was funny.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>A giant mackerel smashed into the director’s face. He flew into the wall, sprawling out comically before peeling off of the wood and wallpaper like a heavy piece of sticky paper. He crumpled to the floor in a heap. Swearing up and down, he looked up just in time to see Dot holding the mackerel over her head.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Call me Dottie-”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The director sneered. “Little-”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“AND YOU </span>
  <em>
    <span>DIE</span>
  </em>
  <span>!”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Dot slammed the mackerel hammer down on the director- again and again and again- until both were meaningless lumps of meat.</span>
</p><hr/>
<p>
  <span>It was mid-afternoon when Dot left the trailer. Now it was the beginning of night of the California summer day when Dot made it back. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The receptionist had heard the commotion, burst through the door to find Dot standing over the bloody director, bits of fish sticking to the walls. The receptionist screamed as Dot ran past, tore down the hall and out of the building, wild-eyed and mad. Eyes stared and bore into her being as she escaped, frantically running out of the lot. She spotted the biggest tree she could find and clawed her way up, disappearing into the leaves. For however long she was up there, she trembled and cried, clinging to the trunk- not knowing what the hell just happened.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Her dress was speckled with fish guts, bark, and leaves; and one ear was out of her flower tie. Mascara stained her face. She would have liked to say she had looked worse, but that would be a lie.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>She lumbered up the retractable steps of the trailer, tugged on the door handle, but found it locked. She pulled harder on the door but it wouldn’t budge. Eventually, she resigned herself to knocking.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Wakko opened the door, that big goofy smile spread across his face until he saw what a state Dot was in. “Dot? What happened?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Before she could get a word in, Yakko piped up from inside. “Hey, hey, movie star! How’d your interview-audition go?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Wakko cringed and sucked in his lower lip as Dot’s face crumbled into rage. She pushed Wakko aside as she stomped into the trailer. Yakko was sitting on the couch and grinning at her, only for it to collapse once Dot came into sight. “PUT A SOCK IN IT, YAKKO!”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Dot ran to the bathroom, slammed the door, and broke down into tears. She ripped off the dress, not caring for how it tore, quickly replacing it with a nightgown from the closet. She angrily wiped away the makeup on her face in the mirror. She almost didn’t hear the knock on her door.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Go away!” Dot screamed.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Yakko’s voice drifted through the door. “Did it not go well?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Oh! What tipped you off?!” Dot threw a hairbrush at the door, a satisfying bang emitting from the impact.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>A beat of silence. “Can we come in?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Her heavy breathing slowed as she thought it over. Heaving air in, heaving air out. Over and over. “Just. Wakko.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Another beat of silence passed before Dot realized she had to unlock the door. Once she did so, it opened, and Wakko gingerly stepped inside, avoiding the shredded remains of Dot’s puffed-sleeve dress on the floor.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Dot slumped to the floor, sniffling. Silently, he sat in front of her, held out his arms, and let Dot hang onto him for dear life.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>His arms encompassed her, one hand patting her back, rocking to and fro. “It’s okay. . . it’s okay. . . .”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>But it wasn’t okay. It wasn’t a joke. It wasn’t funny. It was wrong but she didn’t know how. And she wouldn’t understand for years. Decades even. It would only come one day, in the water tower, 18 years before their big escape, like a bolt of lightning. What exactly that man wanted. Her eyes would blow wide on that distant memory, something her subconscious tried desperately to forget. She would not scream nor cry, but stare into the metal walls. Thinking over and over what could have happened, what her life could have been like after the fact.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>She wanted to puke.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>For a time, Dot would think it was her fault. </span>
  <em>
    <span>She </span>
  </em>
  <span>was the one who was running around. </span>
  <em>
    <span>She </span>
  </em>
  <span>went to the office building. </span>
  <em>
    <span>She </span>
  </em>
  <span>wore her second favorite perfume. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Her fault.</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <span>After all, the director was just another piece of evidence of why the Warners should be locked away.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>But Dot wouldn’t let that happen again. She’ll flirt, and kiss, and chase. But on her terms. From now on, </span>
  <em>
    <span>she </span>
  </em>
  <span>will control the situation. She’ll decide who she kisses. And who she breaks.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>But first things first.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>She let go of Wakko. His sympathetic face coupled with confusion as she crawled to the bathroom counter, shuffled around in one of the drawers, and pulled out a perfume bottle. He watched as she stood and walked out of the bathroom, then followed her to the door as she opened it. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Dot reared her fist back as far as it would go and chucked the bottle as far as she could throw. It spun out into the darkness, the sound of glass shattering echoing out seconds later.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The Warner sister stared off after it. Then she whipped around and faced Yakko, who had resigned himself to the couch after his sister’s rejection. He flinched slightly, waiting to be yelled at or smacked, but Dot just sniffed. She closed the door then sauntered up to the couch. Wakko walked up behind her. “I’m sorry,” she mumbled.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Hey, it’s okay. . . .” Yakko scooted over so Dot could sit on the softest pillow, which she gladly accepted. He wrapped his arms around her, rocking back and forth. “I’d only want Wakko too.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Dot’s brows furrowed, but she giggled through stray tears a second later. “Heeeeey. . . .”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“What? It’s true,” Yakko said, gesturing for Wakko to join them on the couch. Wakko smiled, his tongue sticking out. He hopped up onto the couch on the other side of Dot, hugging her again. “But if it’s any consolation, you’ll always be my favorite sister.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Mine too,” Wakko said, resting his cheek on top of Dot’s head.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>A mix of a giggle and a blubber escaped out of her throat. “I’m your </span>
  <em>
    <span>only </span>
  </em>
  <span>sister.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“That just makes it all the better,” Yakko replied, stroking Dot’s back.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Heh . . . you dummies. . . .”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Dot would not tell her brothers what happened that day until the night she realized what the director almost did. They certainly found out about the fish beating, but the only reason she gave was, “He called me Dottie.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Both of them would be shocked, then rage inside themselves at what that man could have done. At how ignorant they were to their sister’s pain. They had merely assumed that she was called Dottie, rejected the part, and that was that. It might have been odd that she screamed and sobbed at that stupid nickname, but. . . they were the Warners. They decide what they laugh or cry at. Who they annoy and who they love. Oh, but what fools the Warner brothers be.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>At this moment, however, all the brothers wanted was to comfort their baby sister. And all the baby sister wanted was their comfort. They were, she decided, all she needed.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>And another decision was made that night. She would </span>
  <em>
    <span>never</span>
  </em>
  <span> give anyone the chance to call her “Dottie” again.</span>
</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>I hope I don't wake up with an angry mob outside my house tomorrow. Oh well. . . .</p>
<p>Remember, this is in the 30s when the Warners were still "brand new." In the original show, they were already 60+ years old, so they most likely understood the adult world better than any child their canon ages. There must have been a time where they were like any other kid. . . .</p>
<p>I hope you enjoyed the Warner sibling scene. I love those moments.</p>
        </blockquote><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Hope you enjoyed. I really like Dot and I wanted to write a fic about her. Naturally, the only thing to do when you like a character is to make them suffer. Mwha-ha-ha.</p></blockquote></div></div>
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